Index of Memorial Resolutions and Biographical Sketches

When Archibald Anderson Hill died on
March 29, 1992, in Austin, we lost one more of that dwindling number
of linguists who had been present at the creation in the 1930s of modern
American linguistics. We also lost one of the last of a generation of
linguistic scholars equally at home in a language department (in Hill's
case, English) and in a linguistics department.

Arch Hill was born July 5, 1902,
in New York City. (He was "Arch," always "Arch," to just about everybody.)
He grew up in California where he attended private schools (his mother
was a teacher) and San Diego High School from 1916 to 1918. The bicoastal
origins seem odd to those who met him in later life, when one would
have taken him for a Southerner of the old school. His speech and bearing"courtly"
is the only word that will docame from south of the Mason-Dixon
Line, where he spent most of his adult life.

In 1919 Hill went to Pomona College
in Claremont, graduating with the AB degree in English in 1923 (minors
in Spanish and science). He attended Stanford for a year, studying English,
and earned the AM degree in 1924. His "field," to the extent that he
had one, was literature. From Stanford he went to Yale for doctoral
work in English literature and was awarded the PhD degree in 1927. At
Yale he met his future wife, Muriel Louise Byard of Ellsworth, Maine.
They were married August 8, 1928.

Hill's education had done almost
nothing to prepare him for his life's work in linguistics. That
was normal at the timethere were no departments of linguisticsand
for many years afterwards. Speaking of his first, more or less accidental,
encounters with what we think of today as linguistics, he wrote
a half century later:

[A]nother stage began when I went to Stanford for
graduate study. It was there for the first time that I met Old English,
and thus got some inkling of language history. I remember trying to
master umlaut, from the description in the Sievers-Cook grammar. The
statement was that umlaut occurred when there was an i or j
in the syllable following. So I looked for the i or j
in the syllable following but there was nothing there. Eventually,
light dawned. The i or j was a prehistoric i
or j. The result was that language history seemed to be something
like archaeology, something I had always been interested in. After
that experience, I always had an open ear for language history, which
was the linguistics of that day . Then I went on to Yale. It
should be said that my stay there was before the days when a great
scholar like Prokosch taught Gothic and Old High German in New Haven
. If I try to summarize the kind of education I had been given,
it must be said that linguistics was slighted. There were no departments
or even programs with that name. I had managed to sneak in as much
linguistics as I could, but I would have been deeply grateful for
a lot more. Actually, my real education in the subject began at Michigan,
after I had achieved a literary doctorate (1980:70-2).

Hill's first academic appointment was as instructor
of English at the University of Michigan in 1926 (he became assistant
professor three years later). He went there, as he put it, as a "very
junior understudy to Samuel Moore" (Hill 1980:72). Moore, the great
scholar of Old and Middle English, played a major role in Hill's development;
Hill in his seventies still referred to Moore as "my hero" (Hill 1991:50).
In 1930 he moved to the University of Virginia with promotion to associate
professor, eventually becoming professor of English. During World War
II he served in the Communications and Intelligence Division (cryptanalysis)
of the U.S. Naval Reserve, rising to the rank of commander. Following
discharge from the service he returned to Virginia, leaving in 1952
to go to Georgetown as vice-director of the Institute of Languages and
Linguistics. In 1955 he was recruited to The University of Texas by
then Chancellor Harry Huntt Ransom. Arch Hill was the right kind of
faculty member to join Winfred P. Lehmann (who had come in 1949) in
building Texas as a center for language study and linguistics.

Apart from the usual leaves of absence
and visits abroad on various consultancies, Hill remained in Austin
the rest of his life. He retired from the faculty of The University
of Texas in 1972 at age 70 amidst honor and acclaim. The University
celebrated the event with a symposium presided over by Chancellor Emeritus
Harry H. Ransom at which Einar Haugen, Hill's friend of long standing
and former president of the LSA (Linguistic Society of America, the
major organization of linguists in North America), gave the main testimonial
address. Hill continued doing pretty much what he had done before, writing
articles and book reviews, giving lectures, worrying about the advancement
of his former students, preaching the linguistic gospel, and in general
being the best kind of elder statesman a university can wish to have:
supportive, helpful, generous with his time and experience, not a meddler,
not a nuisance, at peace with himself.

His major project during retirement
was the writing of his part of the proposed 50-year history of the
LSA commemorating the Golden Anniversary celebrations in 1974. The
project foundered (concerning which see Hill 1991:49, fn.), but
Hill's contribution was published as "The Linguistic Society of
America and North American Linguistics" in Historiographia linguistica
some fifteen years after he had written it (Hill 1991). Declining
mobility confined Hill to his home in the last half of the 1980s,
though he remained intellectually alert and engaged throughout.
He never lacked for visitors. Not a linguistics conference was held
at Texas whose participants (over the age of 50, and some under)
did not make the pilgrimage to his beautiful home overlooking the
hills of west Austin on Mt. Bonnell Road. He was always glad to
see his old friends. The companionship meant much to him. Little
things did, as well. Maggie Reynolds, the executive director of
the LSA, always made it a point to send him the handbooks from annual
meetings. They delighted him, summoning remembrance of people and
things past.

* * *

"I am continually at work on literary analysis
and relations of literature and linguistics as well as my usual work
on linguistic analysis and theory."

Hill wrote that revealing description
of himself in the annual report of his activities for the year 1959.
It is not a bad summing-up of his life's activities and interests. He
published extensively on a variety of topicssome 164 publications
including books, articles, essays, reports, and monographs. He was not
a theoretician and never claimed to be. He applied the ideas of others
and, always tactful, gained for those ideas a foothold in hostile encampments.
He was best known to the wider audience of linguists and English department
language/linguistic specialists for his textbook Introduction to
Linguistic Structures: from Sound to Sentence in English (1958),
a classic neo-Bloomfieldian analysis of English when that version of
theory was the regnant orthodoxy. All of it is in there: don't mix
levels!; the Trager-Smith 3x3 vowel system plus three offglides
(though he was skeptical of postvocalic /h/, judging it 'radical');
four degrees of stress; plus-juncture; the definition of parts of speech
in purely surface-functional terms. Hill's Introduction to Linguistic
Structures stands today as a monument at a way station in the evolution
of linguistic theory, as does Chomsky and Halle's Sound Pattern of
English. Hill never much cared for the label "neo-Bloomfieldian,"
preferring simply "Bloomfieldian" (after Leonard Bloomfield, one of
the founders of modern American linguistics). But we are known by the
company we keep, and in Hill's case it was linguists like Martin Joos,
Bernard Bloch, Charles Hockett, George Trager, Albert Marckwardt, Henry
Hoenigswald, J. Milton Cowan, and Henry Lee Smith, Jr.all "neo-Bloomfieldians"
with whom he had the greatest affinity. However, he wasn't dogmatic
about much of anythingever.

Hill was one of the first American
linguists (in his Introduction) to utilize the relationships
between syntactic structure and prosody in the analysis of English.
The avant garde of the time, the late 1950s and early 1960s, attacked
Hill on this, but today that same relationship is taken as obvious.

Many historical linguists were influenced
by his "Phonetic and Phonemic Change," which had appeared in Language
in 1936 but was rescued from obscurity by its inclusion in Martin
Joos's Readings in Linguistics (Joos 1957). Joos's Readings
was standard reading material for most of those who came to linguistics
in the early 1960s, as the great Sanskrit grammarian Panini was
said to have been Leonard Bloomfield's bedtime reading. "Phonetic
and Phonemic Change" was one of the first attempts to bring what
was then called the "phonemic principle" to bear on historical sound
change. Joos's comment was:

Seldom referred to, even at the time, and almost
forgotten today, this paper was actually of very great importance.
By discussing phonetic realities in the familiar historical field,
while taking phonemics for granted, so that the distinction between
the phonetic and the phonemic aspects was illustrated again and again,
a hearing was gained for phonemic philosophy [among readers otherwise
unimpressed] (1957:84).

The article contains a number of
insights that modern historical linguists rediscover periodically; it
reads very well even today (cf. Rebecca Posner 1978). An interesting
sidelight on this article is that Hill himself considered it one of
his most important contributions to linguistics. On the biographical
data sheet he filled out on joining the faculty at The University of
Texas in 1955, under "Chief Articles" he listed only two: "Phonetic
and Phonemic Change" and "Juncture and Syllable Division in Latin,"
which had come out in Language in 1954. He had published almost
50 articles by that time.

Linguistics was always his first
love, as field of research and as teaching profession. He felt himself
a linguist first and foremosthe liked the phrase "scientific linguist"but
his love of literature always ran a close second. The notion of linguistics
as science was always an important emphasis for Hill. He liked to repeat
a story about Samuel Moore, who had answered a student's criticisms
of what he was teaching by saying: "I'm not teaching literature, I'm
teaching science" (Hill 1980:72 and Hill 1991:49-50).

He never let many years go by without
writing something of a literary nature: e.g., "A Philologist Looks at
Finnegan's Wake" (1939); "The Sound Symbolism of Poe" (1940);
"An Analysis of 'The Windhover': an Experiment in Structural Method"
(1955); "Pippa's Song: Two Attempts at Structural Criticism" (1956);
and, in retirement, Constituent and Pattern in Poetry (1976)
and "Rhymes and Reasons: the Practice of Two Poets" (1982). The ideas
worked out in these and other essays formed the basis of his course,
An Introduction to Linguistics and Literature, which was required of
all graduate students in English during the 1960s.

A typical strategy in Hills
essays was to take an analysis of a poem by a New Critic such as Cleanth
Brooks or John Crowe Ransom, endorse its general rightheadedness in
focusing on the details of the language of the text, and then present
a more accurate analysis of those details, sometimes overturning, sometimes
validating the interpretation of the New Critic. (New Criticism in capital
letters, with a focus on the text rather than on the authors biography,
was "new" in the 1940s and dominant in the 1950s.) The titles of Hill's
essays acknowledge the tentative qualities of his analyses, with words
like "experiment," "attempts," and "toward."

The two disciplines on which Hill's
method of reading literature rested were to undergo dramatic revolutionsthe
development of generative grammar in linguistics and of "post-structuralism"
in literary criticism. Such events now make Hill's linguistic approach
to literary texts seem of a certain period, especially in its assumption
that the determinate meaning of a poem can be established with the same
precision and general acceptance as the identification of phonemes like
/p/ and /f/. In his interpretations (a dozen essays on lyric poetry
in Constituent and Pattern in Poetry alone), the symmetry of
the four-part syllogism figured more prominently than it has in the
markedly asymmetrical attitudes of the years that have followed. But
what endures is Hill's commitment to the relation of linguistics to
literature, an idea that was itself about to cause its own revolution
in new linguistics-related critical models. Moreover, his firm belief
in the value of philological and historical studies, in Old and Middle
English and the history of the English language, helped to keep these
subjects an essential part of the curriculum during a period of academic
upheaval. The idea that a knowledge of linguistics and the history and
structure of language can inform literary analysis is sustained in the
English department at UT, where each semester a fuller selection of
"lang-ling" courses is offered than in probably any other strictly English
department in the country.

Hill's use of linguistics in literary
analysis was evidence that he never forgot that the knowledge gained
in linguistic theory has useful applications elsewhere. His work in
this area is well known. Not so well known is his work in another field
of applied linguistics: foreign-language teaching, specifically TEFL
(Teaching of English as a Foreign Language). In his early years at UT
he conducted informal seminars for instructors of foreign-language sections
of required English courses (some of whose instructors were graduate
students in what was then an interdepartmental program in linguistics).
He also conducted short seminars in TEFL for groups of foreign teachers
who came to UT on exchange programs. And in 1965 he published Oral
Approach to English in two volumes, widely used in Japan and Taiwan.
His work thus covered the two most important aspects of foreign-language
teaching: teacher training and preparation of teaching materials.

Hill was skilled in the role of
ambassador-at-large to a world which, he felt devoutly, could only be
the better for knowing more about linguistics. This missionary spirit
was the impetus behind various of his projects, most notably the Texas
Conferences on Problems of Linguistic Analysis in English in the late
1950s. These conferences helped to establish the place of Texas in the
universe of linguistics, of course, but Hill conceived them mainly as
a way to get the linguistic word out to a wider audience. It was one
of these conferences, in 1958, that provided Noam Chomsky with an early
forum for his then novel and offputting ideas. Chomsky's paper, "A Transformational
Approach to Syntax," appeared in print four years later (Hill 1962).

Hill, though himself very much a
Bloomfieldian, laid great value on an ecumenical stance, and there was
no linguist's work in which he couldn't find something of value. He
went to lengths, in his valedictory, to praise the contributions to
linguistics of Bloomfield, Sapir, Sturtevant, Noam Chomsky, and Mary
Haas (Hill 1991:147). Although personally upset by the attacks of TG
grammarians on his Introduction to Linguistic Structures (which
came out just as transformational-generative theory gained momentum),
his response was to learn as much as was then available about generative
syntax. Subsequently he focused more on the literary side of linguistic
studies (though without animosity toward generative work). One might
simply say that Arch Hill had a gift for gratitude and leave it at that.

Hill was proud of his multiple appointments
at The University of Texas: he was professor of English, linguistics,
and education; and he took his responsibilities to each of his departments
seriously (though English remained his home department). Teaching teachers
always mattered to him, as did the teaching of writingEnglish
composition. Some of his most influential and most often anthologized
articles appeared in College English. His teaching load down
to retirement included courses for future teachers of English. TEFL
(Teaching of English as a Foreign Language) was always one of his professional
and teaching interests. His valedictory address to the graduating class
of 1972 of the College of Humanities at The University of Texas dealt
with a "description of a Freshman Composition course at the University
of Utopia with some description of the teaching methods and devices
that could be used" (Hill 1972). The graduates sat there attentively
and with respect and listened. This was during the cultural (if
not literally chronological) epoch we call "The Sixties!" Would a graduating
class anywhere today sit still for a commencement address on freshman
composition? The thing cannot be imagined. O tempora! O mores!

One of Hill's most solid contributions
to the farflung world of linguistics lay in his former students, on
whom he made an extraordinarily enduring impression. They loved him;
on this all agree. Charles Scott, himself a former student, is especially
moving on this aspect of Hill's legacy (Scott 1993). His ties to foreign
students of linguistics, at a timethe 1950s and 1960swhen
linguistics was one of the leading exports of the American intellectual
enterprise, secured standing, affection, and loyalty for our discipline
abroad. The simplest gauge of the esteem he was held in throughout the
world is his Festschrift (Jazayery, Polomé, and Winter
1978), which required four volumes (encompassing four different
fields) to accommodate all the contributors, including colleagues and
former students. A permanent visual memory of Arch Hill, even after
retirement, is of students, many of them foreign students and old friends
from abroad, crowding the antechamber to his office waiting to see him.

In the course of his long career
he had acquired an exceptionally complete collection of books and periodicals
on linguistics and cognate literary matters. Even while he was still
an active member of the faculty and was using this material regularly,
he made it available to the entire faculty and student body of the department.
In the year before his retirement he formally donated the collection
to the Department of Linguistics. Not content with having done all that,
Hill continued to keep the collection current with a steady flow of
new book acquisitions and periodical subscriptions. The Hill Library
has become an irreplaceable scholarly resource for the Department of
Linguistics and linguistic scholars from all departments at The University
of Texas. He wrote in 1971, upon making the bequest: "The opportunity
of making this donation for student use is as pleasant a way as I can
think of of marking a stage in a relationship which has been pleasant
throughout."

And then there is the story of Archibald
A. Hill and the Linguistic Society of America. The LSA was founded
in 1924; Hill became a member in 1928. ("Sammy [Samuel Moore] did
one other important thing for me. He dragooned me into the Linguistic
Society" [Hill 1980:73].) However, he and the Society almost got
an early divorce: "In 1929, curiously enough, I thought of dropping
out. The journal [Language] was full of things like Hittite,
which seemed to me as distant as the other side of the moon" (Hill
1980:73). But he kept paying his dues and soon things were looking
up:

For me, the first revolution began when I attended
my first meeting of the Linguistic Society . The meeting was
in the old Jefferson Hotel in Richmond, and a vivid memory of it was
a fountain in the lobby with little alligators in it. Among the linguists
who were present at that meeting were Gray, Kurylowicz and Sturtevant.
Sturtevant was talking about Indo-European ablaut with Gray, and I
ventured a comment on it. I said that it seemed to me that the vowel
alternations between a pair of forms like alternation and alternate
was very like Indo-European ablaut. That was a pretty silly and certainly
a very naive question, but Sturtevant took it perfectly seriously
and gave me a very good and revealing answer . From that time
on I was hooked. There was no scholarly organization which meant as
much to me as the Linguistic Society (Hill 1980:73-74).

In 1950 Hill was asked to succeed
J. Milton Cowan as secretary-treasurer of the LSA, a position he held
until 1968. During that time, the better part of a generation and during
a time of massive expansion in higher education and the discipline of
linguistics in particular, Archibald A. Hill was the "face," as it were,
of the Society. He was active behind the scenes of course, as the secretary-treasurer
always is. But those were the days of plenary sessions: every session
at every annual meeting, winter or summer, was a plenary session; there
were no parallel sessions or sections. It was the secretary-treasurer's
job to preside over these mammoth sessions, to admonish windy speakers
to observe their time limits, to keep the questions within bounds, to
deal with the unpredictable.

No person ever performed that irksome
task better than Arch Hill. Tall (6'4"), always formally dressed
in suit and tie (of course!), slightly stooped with an academic's
myopia (it seemed)Hill kept things on track with humor and
dignity and patience (and polite toughness, if that's what it took).
He was especially kind to neophytes. Robert D. King recalls:

The one time I gave a paper at an Annual Meeting in
its old format, in 1967 in Chicago, my nerves were naturally on edge
beforehand, and I tripped over a microphone cord as I walked up to
the podium. I had an awkward time extracting myself from all the electrical
impedimenta lying about on the floor. The moment threatened to become
lost in vulgar detail. Arch (who hardly knew me at the time, I hadn't
been at Texas very long) asked to see my handout before introducing
me, he raised some point or other about the handout, and by the time
he announced my paper I had calmed down, at least on the outside.
It wasn't until later that I realized he knew exactly what he was
doing when, like a magician, he deflected my attention away from that
coiled and rattling mass of microphone lines and extension cords that
had nearly undone me; he had doubtless performed a similar service
a dozen times before for fidgety newcomers.

It was a marriage made in heaven, as
they say, Arch Hill and the secretary-treasurership (Arch Hill and the
LSA, actually). There was no secretariat, no staff to speak of in those
days, and almost all of the paperwork created by the Society's affairs
was done out of his home and office by Hill and his wife, Muriel (who
died in June 1986). "I recall as a graduate student in 1962 ordering
Eduard Prokosch's A Comparative Germanic Grammar from the LSA,
which meant from the 'offices' of the LSA, University Station, Austin,
Texas. It arrived with a handwritten receipt, signed Archibald A. Hill"
(Robert D. King).

Arch never spoke publicly about
his years as secretary-treasurer without expressly according his wife
Muriel her share of the accolades (see, for example, Hill 1991:146).
Her contributions ranged from envelope-stuffing and licking stamps to
higher counsel and proofreading as well as stylistic emendations ("Muriel
writes better than I do," he liked to say: she went over everything
he wrote before he mailed it). The Hills had no children of their own,
and both of them sometimes spoke of the LSA as their child. Certainly
it would be a lucky son or daughter who received as much love and care
as the Society and all its outworks while Arch was secretary-treasurer.
He was president of the LSA in 1969, and the suite of offices housing
the secretariat of the Society is named in his honor.

Muriel Hill's death in 1986 had
a devastating effect on Arch. It left a huge vacuum in his life, though
she was never out of his mind. Or out of his sight: "The effect of Muriel's
deathand lifeon him cannot easily be described. She remained
with him to the end of his own life: facing him through his favorite
picture of her placed in full view from the armchair where he sat all
through his waking hours" (M. A. Jazayery).

Then there was Muriel Wright. Her
father, Phineas Wright, had been a student of Hill's at the University
of Michigan and later a colleague at the University of Virginia. His
daughter was named after Arch's wife, Muriel. Muriel Wright, who attended
UT and later worked for the state in Austin, was a regular visitor while
the Hills were still alive. After Mrs. Hill's death, she looked after
Arch with extraordinary devotion. She went to his house every day after
work, staying until late in the evening. She spent the weekends there,
especially in his later years when he was immobile and sometimes seriously
ill. She was accompanied by her father whenever he came to Austin from
his home in Virginia. She was nurse, secretary, assistant, friend, and
companion to Arch Hill. She did as much for him and meant as much to
him as any "biological child" could have.

In these pages we have frequently
alluded to Hill's inborn kindness. It is true; he was extraordinarily
well disposed toward all. The now antediluvian phrase "a gentleman
and a scholar" attached itself to Arch Hill like an epithet in The
Iliad. But it will not do to leave the impression that he was
a sort of never-met-a-man-he-didn't-like Will Rogers of the Academy.
Bad manners of any sort he simply could not abide. He would tolerate
not a bit more than the usual amount of arrogance in the questions
following presentation of a paper at the annual meeting; he once
ruled a discussant's remarks "off the record" when, in Hill's opinion,
they exceeded the bounds of academic decency (see Hill 1991:122).
King recalls:

The harshest remark I ever heard him make publicly
about someone (a colleague who made an avocation of bad manners) was
"I don't have much use for that man." He was talking to Dave Decamp
[formerly UT Professor of English and Linguistics, now deceased] and
me at the time, and the effect on us, who had never heard Arch say
a thing like that in public, was not unlike the effect that Louis
XIV's "Qui est cet homme ?" must have had on those in attendance.
It is very amusing of course, that so mild a statement ("I don't have
much use for that man") could sound like a veiled threat of death
or expropriation, but that's the way it was with Arch Hill.

No summation of Archibald Hill's life
would be complete without mention of his oddest claim to fame: "the
song." Hill ended his contribution to the Oral Archive for the History
of American Linguistics by saying:

I will close with a pair of anecdotes. Professor [Henry]
Hoenigswald earlier in this meeting, was good enough to quote me quoting
Wordsworth, to the effect that to be young in those days of the first
revolution [the Bloomfieldian "revolution"] was "very Heaven." He
said it took some courage to make that quotation. I don't see whythe
quotation is in the public domain. Some of you will, on the other
hand, understand me when I use a quotation to wish the Linguistic
archive a "happy birthday" and say that that quotation is not, like
Henry's, in the public domain (Hill 1991:75-76).

This statement will seem cryptic to
many (and now, no doubt, most) readers. Those present understood it
immediately, for Arch Hill owned the copyright to the song "Happy
Birthday." The song was written by two maiden aunts of his who had had
the uncommon good sense to copyright it, and Hill inherited the rights
to "Happy Birthday" when they died. Every time "Happy Birthday" was
played commercially, Hill made some more money. He used to point to
this or that and say something to the effect that "'Happy Birthday'
bought that." Many have speculated how much "Happy Birthday" subsidized
the LSA between 1950 and 1968 or the Hill Library in the Department
of Linguistics.

Hill was especially fond of the
translations from Old Icelandic made by his colleague in the Department
of Germanic Languages, Lee Hollander. A fitting benediction for
this occasion comes from that language, from the Hávamál:

Cattle die. Kin die.

Thou thyself shalt die.

One thing I know that never dies:

Judgment over the dead.

Time's judgment of Arch Hillof
the man himself, and of all his works and daysis secure and always
will be, as it was on that winter day in 1992 when a hushed and respectful
world received the news of his death.

<signed>

Larry R. Faulkner,
President
The University of Texas at Austin

<signed>

John R. Durbin, Secretary
The General Faculty

This memorial resolution was prepared
by a special committee consisting of Professors Robert D. King (chair),
Thomas M. Cable, and M. Ali Jazayery.

REFERENCES*

Davis, Boyd H., and Raymond K. O'Cain (eds.) 1980. First
Person Singular: Papers from the Conference on an Oral Archive for the
History of American Linguistics. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Amsterdam
Studies in the Theory and History of Linguistic Science 21.)

Hill, Archibald A. (ed.) 1962. Third Texas Conference
on Problems of Linguistic Analysis in English (May 9-12, 1958).
Austin, Texas: The University of Texas.

----------. 1972. Fifty Years of English: from Comma
to Full Stop. An Address to the Convocation of the College of Humanities,
The University of Texas, on May 20, 1972. (Reprinted in Jazayery, Polomé,
and Winter 1978:1.33-40).

----------. 1980. "How Many Revolutions can a Linguist
Live Through?" In Davis and O'Cain, 69-76.

----------. 1991. "The Linguistic Society of America
and North American Linguistics, 1950-1968." Historiographia Linguistica
18.49-152.

*For a complete listing of Professor
Hills publications we refer the reader to the obituary of Hill
written by his student Charles T. Scott (Scott 1993), to Einar Haugen's
"For Arch" in Jazayery, Polomé, and Winter (1978:1.14-18), and
to Edgar Polomé's "Archibald A. Hill: a Biographical Sketch"
also written for the Hill Festschrift (Jazayery, Polomé,
and Winter 1978:1.13-14).